


lay your worries on these shoulders

by fluffernutter8



Category: Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, Late Night Conversations, Married Couple, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Sophie and Benedict have a talk the night before they depart for Violet’s first season.
Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	lay your worries on these shoulders

“I wondered where you had gotten off to.”

Sophie looked up as her husband stepped into the garden. There was no wall or doorway and he had clearly donned his clothes hastily upon waking and finding her gone from bed, but he managed to give the impression of lounging without much of a care.

She knew better than that. Benedict cared quite a lot about a number of things, and she was quite near the top of that list.

Knowing that, she gave him a smile, attempting reassurance, but she could tell even as she did that in the brightness of the full moon, he could see it waver. His eyes remained gentle, though he frowned seeing the tremble of her mouth, the handkerchief she had twisted between her hands. Gesturing with his chin, he requested a seat beside her on the bench, taking it at her nod.

“May I presume, then, that you weren’t simply looking for some fresh air after our earlier exertions?” he asked softly, careful humor underlying his words.

“I was having some trouble sleeping,” she admitted, a truer smile touching her lips as she added, “Despite any earlier exertions.”

“Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Forestalling any teasing about his singular focus, he said, “I can make you some tea or something? Read you a story. Lie down in bed, rub your shoulders.”

“I don’t know that I have ever seen you make tea, and it’s a bit late to rouse Mrs. Crabtree.” Their housekeeper was still as opinionated as ever and would certainly have something to say if they ever tried to relieve her of her duties, but she was not as robust as she had once been. The small additional staff that the family had taken on over the years, each of whom was protected under Mrs. Crabtree’s considerable wing, helped to ensure that things ran so smoothly about the house that she did not need to exert herself overly. Even their four children had been raised to be considerate and assist in keeping things relatively tidy - with a mother who had as much experience with unfortunate working conditions as Sophie did, how could they not have been? Which led her right back around to her problem...

“Well, the other options are still available. I do not believe I require any help from Mrs. Crabtree for those,” he said. When she did not even give a slight courtesy laugh in response, he placed a hand atop hers.

“Is there something in particular which is keeping you from sleep?” he asked, voice so quiet that it did not even seem to break the stillness of the garden.

She could have lied, might have pretended that something had not agreed with her at supper, or that she had read a sad novel, or that she was concerned that she had left something out of the packing, or even that she was simply overcome with the idea of her children having grown so quickly, which was at least related to the truth. But Benedict’s ability to read her had only improved over the years, and it had been quite a long time since she had needed to hide anything from him or push away his questions - their life was so cozy, after all, delightful with affection and routine.

So she took a breath and said simply, “I’m nervous.”

“About what?”

“About the presentation. I have been for some time.” With another small intake of air, she continued, “I know the—the practicalities of it, the procedure, and there is nothing about it that I am incapable of. I have been walking and smiling and curtsying for nearly all my life. But—” She gave a tiny shrug. “I had no coming out myself. I have no personal experience, and I fear that I shall make some error, some misstep, that I shall do something which shall embarrass Violet, which shall embarrass our family.”

Even after more than twenty years of marriage, getting to say those words still brought a smile to her lips, and although it was small, he smiled back. Still, she saw the dismay in his face. This was not the first time that they had had similar conversations, and each time they had - before her first time serving as hostess, even as she delighted at the invitation to the unveiling of his first work at the National Gallery - he had said that he hoped that one day she would be able to leave behind the doubts about her worth which the circumstances of her early life had wrought.

Benedict and his family had done all they could to help her. He allowed her to practice dancing with him for hours before their first time attending a ball together, and even seemed to enjoy it. Kate and Daphne and Violet and even Eloise had made certain to join her on an early visit back to London when she was required to pay calls to various ladies around town. And nothing had ever truly happened at these occasions to support her anxieties: after she had gone through with things once, she seemed to be fine in future. But as much as she knew herself to be well-mannered and good company, there was a lingering fear that she would do or say something which would reveal that she was not raised in genteel circumstances, some mistake which she would never have made had she had the traditional upbringing that was expected of her.

Interest over Sophie Bridgerton, who seemed to appear from nowhere and who no one had even heard of until after she was married to one of the most eligible bachelors in town, had died down decades ago, and it had been some time since these sorts of fears had last surfaced, but she knew that it must hurt Benedict that she still could not manage to break from those thoughts entirely.

Instead of the familiar consolations, however, he said, “Well, you should have no trouble on that score, as it is impossible to embarrass our family. Considering that I have one brother who was required to marry because he was found in a compromising position involving a bee, and another who burst into a church to interrupt a wedding without even being completely successful at it, and a sister-in-law who wrote the most popular scandal sheet in London for years and insulted half of the most influential people in the country in the process, and even before us there was my aunt Billie, who never had a conventional moment in her life...If we have still managed to remain in good standing following all that, there truly isn’t anything that you could manage to do which would ruin things.”

A little laugh popped from her at that recounting, but even the truth of his humor could not entirely chase away her worries. “I still…” Her words trailed away, and he took her hand, winding his fingers with hers, leaving her handkerchief abandoned in a knot on her lap.

“I have my own concerns about Vivi’s debut,” he said. “As it grows closer, I have thought often of my behavior toward you when we first found each other again, and the idea of it still shames me.”

“It all came off in the end,” she said softly. There had certainly been times all those years ago that she had thought him the most stubborn and aggravating man in creation, but she had loved him already too despite that, and now when she recalled those early emotions, it was as the first chapter in a life and a love story which was particularly theirs. “You’ve made me extremely happy. You make me happy.”

He pressed her fingers where they were still twined together. “I’m glad for it,” he said. “And I hope to continue to do so for as long as I can. But regardless of how it all came together for us, I worry that things might be different for Violet, or perhaps too much the same. She might have a certain station which you did not - although of course such things should make no difference when it comes to matters of respect - but I am concerned nevertheless that the young men of the _ton_ have become no more judicious since I was among their number. I worry that they might take advantage of her, that they might act cruelly, even out of simple thoughtlessness, that they might not recognize how entirely precious she is.” He glanced down at their hands pressed together in his lap, then out into the garden beneath the moonlight before he said, “I worry about her heart being broken.”

Many of the gentlemen she knew would never have cared for such things, much less admitted it; that he did warmed her heart, although it was no surprise. He had been a wonderful father from the moment their eldest child took his first breath, had taught their sons to ride and shoot, all the things young boys were meant to learn, but had taken them on long walks through the countryside too, wove stories for them and painted elaborate backdrops for all the little dramatics they wanted to perform. He had been endlessly patient, unstinting with his time and attention, taking care to spend hours listening to each of them talk through their latest problems or passions.

But it had been obvious from the first that their Violet had a particular place in his heart. She had been born small and unlike her brothers, who were hearty and healthy outside of a few exceptional incidents, her childhood had been littered with lingering illnesses, a constitutional weakness which she only grew out of in later years. How many times had Sophie walked past Vivi’s bedroom to find Benedict allowing her to use even his best pencils or paints for her artwork, to see the two of them with their heads bent over some flower or small creature he had found especially for their daughter, bringing the wondrous outdoors in to her? How many times had she woken to find him gone from their bed, as he had tonight, only to discover him sitting beside Violet, comforting her after a nightmare or a fit of coughing, or simply ensuring himself that she was still with them?

She leaned to rest her head against his broad shoulder, taking in his smell, so familiar after all these years.

“So yes,” he said, his voice rumbling through her, tucked as she was against his body. “I have my own concerns regarding the upcoming season, but the sorts of things you fear, my love, are not and have never been among them.”

“And if you are proven wrong?” she asked into the fabric of his shirt, although she did not want to, although she only wished to sit here with him and feel his warmth and be comforted. “If something should indeed happen?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “If something should happen, or if someone should make you feel that you have been anything less than completely perfect, I think that you shall find that there will be quite a number of people who will have something else to say on the matter. My mother will be there, after all, along with an altogether inconvenient number of her children and grandchildren - including all our sons, so long as Alexander manages to pick his head up from his books in time to remember. Not to mention that on your arm will be a young lady who is bright and kind and principled and knows exactly what she is about: traits which will serve her well in life, and whose source I know precisely.”

She looked up and found him gazing down at her with love clear in his eyes. “And I shall be there as well,” he said, although it came out as something of a vow. “And I would stand against the queen herself if it came to it, and the prince consort for good measure.”

It didn’t solve the problem truly, she knew that. But she had found over the years that if one could not be assured entirely of success, knowing that you would be accepted and supported and loved despite that was the next best thing. Freeing her hand, she reached up and pulled his face toward hers, kissing him for a gentle and thorough while. When she finally moved back, she could feel her usual smile sparkling at her mouth. “I truly think you would,” she told him. “You came out to sit in the dark and the cold with me after all, so I think you must love me at least a bit.”

“Yes, that’s what they say about me,” he said teasingly. “‘Benedict Bridgerton, he loves his wife at least a bit.’”

“Oh, that is what they say?” She couldn’t help but smile, clasping both of her arms around his nearer one.

His other arm came around her, wrapping her tight, although she could not say that it was not an attempt to steal her warmth - she was in a heavy dressing gown, after all, and the March weather was quite brisk. She settled easily against him regardless.

It was several more minutes before he spoke, but when he did, his voice was somewhat more solemn. “That isn’t what they say, you know. “

“No?”

“‘Benedict Bridgerton,’” he told her, “‘he loves his wife with everything in him.’” His words were even softer now, but no less vehement for it. “That’s what they say. I have from before the first time I saw you, in every one of your incarnations, and _nothing_ will ever change that.”

He kissed the top of her head, grasped her to him for another moment, and then stood, holding out a hand. She took it, getting gracefully to her feet, and together they returned to the warmth of their home and their bed to try and get a little rest.

London was waiting, after all, and they would greet it together.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a situation + dialogue prompt: Comforting the other/“I can make you some tea or something? Read you a story. Lie down in bed.”


End file.
